


Not Everyone Who's Here is Gonna Last

by leighwrites



Series: The Stozierlution [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: I hope!, M/M, There is literally nothing happy here, Zombie Apocalypse, angst hours, happy birthday ashbot this ones for you, it's everything you ever wanted, no surprise living, only death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighwrites/pseuds/leighwrites
Summary: Not everyone gets to live when the infected are so deadly they're tailored to handling different things.
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Series: The Stozierlution [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711642
Comments: 15
Kudos: 25





	Not Everyone Who's Here is Gonna Last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashleygail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleygail/gifts).



> Based on different zombie concepts from both Left 4 Dead and Resident Evil.

It took twenty days for the virus known as the Green Flu to hit Derry, and when it did, it hit hard. It killed, reanimated people, and the zombies were nothing like people had always assumed they would be. Television and movies had lied. These zombies could run, and mutate into stronger and faster creatures which made them harder to kill and even harder to escape from. They didn’t bite. They pinned and clawed. They shrieked. They had their own ways to spread the virus, and within a year, at least eighty percent of maine had been eradicated. If the infected didn’t kill them, the bombings to try and cut off the virus most likely did, and those fortunate to survive the bombings were forced to fend for themselves.

“Heyy, Staniel my man!” Richie greets, shaking a can of unidentified food at Stan that has a utensil sticking out of it as he stumbles out onto the roof from the open bedroom window. “Got you some food since you decided not to come in and eat.”

“Someone has to keep watch.” Stan points out, taking the can from Richie without looking away from the street below. “We all know you’d suck at that.”

“You’ve been out here all day.” Richie says, taking a seat next to him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

Stan looks down at the can, beans again because they have to ration everything, and then looks back out at the street. “Then you don’t know any better.”

“Now, now Staniel, if you were avoiding me you wouldn’t end up in my bed every night.”

Stan pauses, a spoonful of beans inches from his mouth. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Good. Use that hate later.”

Stan rolls his eyes, opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by the sound of something laughing. He hands the can of food back to Richie and reaches for his sniper rifle, raising it into the air and levelling the scope with his eye. He can see the creature in the alleyway ahead of them, darting side to side as it laughs maniacally. It’s small and hunched over, but there’s no mistaking what it is.

_ The creature had come from nowhere, pouncing onto Beverly and seating itself on her shoulders, pressing two rotted fingers into her mouth when she screamed to keep its balance. It jerked side to side, moving Beverly with each jerk and forcing her to stumble around as she reached up to try and get the thing off her. _

_ “Don’t just stand there!” She shouted, voice muffling as the fingers pressed further in. “Get it off me!” _

“Not this time asshole.” Stan muttered, squeezing the trigger. He didn’t see the bullet  _ hit  _ the infected, but he knew it had the moment the Jockey was cut off in mid-laugh.

“ _ Nice _ .” Richie says, handing the can of food back to Stan who puts the rifle back down. “That puts your kill count one above mine.”

“Try two.” Stan motions to an infected down the street that was unmoving. “Killed that one just before you showed up with food.”

“Damn look at you.” Richie whistles, leaning back and using his hands to support himself up. “Regular cowboy.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“ _ Later  _ Staniel. If we do it here someone’s gonna figure out our dirty little secret.”

Stan snorts, swallowing his food. “That was your idea. I personally don’t care if people know we’re fucking. It’s not like we don’t hear Mike and Eddie doing that shit when they’re on watch.”

Richie grins, leaning closer into Stan’s space. “Ahh, so  _ that’s  _ why you signed us up to do the run tomorrow. To get away from them.”

“It’s not like we don’t make a great team when it comes to scavenging, Rich.”

“That’s fair. What are we hitting up?”

“Hospital and supermarket. Eddie wants to keep the first aid kit stocked. Not that I blame him after that incident with the big fucker.”

“Charger.” Richie corrects. “That’s what Bev’s calling it. She’s scarily good at naming them. Eddie said Ben’ll be fine though. It’s just a broken shoulder where it slammed him into the wall.”

Gathering medical supplies is always the easier part of their scavenging missions. They never have to go beyond the ground floor of the hospital which they’ve already cleared, though sometimes one or two zombies will stumble down from a higher floor. Stan hates that part. They  _ climb _ . Zombies shouldn’t be able to do that, but they can. They’ve figured it out on their missions though. Stan keeps watch while Richie grabs the stuff on the lists Eddie gives to him. It’s how they survive.

Richie walks through the pharmacy, a small medical flashlight clamped between his teeth so he can read the labels on the bottles of pills and packs of medical supplies. When he finds what he needs he grabs it from the shelf and jams it into his backpack with everything else, crossing the item off his list and moving to the next one. A clang down the hallway distracts him momentarily, and he glances to the door where Stan is keeping watch, leaning against the frame.

“Think its a regular one or something that’s gonna fuck up our day?” Richie asks, returning his attention back to the shelves. He trusts Stan with his life. He’s safe with Stan watching over him. He always has been and he always will be.

“I’m not hearing any telltale signs of anything that will fuck up our day.” Stan squints to see up the hallway but it’s too dark to see anything. “It’s probably just a regular one. Anything else would have been here by now. Let’s just wrap this up and go. I’d rather not waste a bullet that we might need more later.”

“You got it Stannita.” Richie mumbles around the flashlight, looking for the last item on the list.

Stan glances to Richie as he vanishes around a set of shelves. Though he’d never admit it out loud, he’s always liked his best friend, that’s why he doesn’t mind their friends with benefits set up. It works for him in a way. He partially gets something he’s wanted for four years but he can never tell him. It’ll push Richie away from him, just like it pushed Beverly away from Bill. Stan can’t handle the idea of that happening to them.

“Got it!” Richie cheers, popping back into view with his backpack in hand, shoving some boxes of gauze into it. “I got enough that Eds shouldn’t need us to come back for a while. Let’s hit up that supermarket.”

The streets are empty aside from a couple of zombies here and there loitering around. Eddie and Bill had cleared a good number of them away during their last run to get some supplies. Anything here now was new but could be easily despatched. Richie whistles a tune that Stan’s unfamiliar with, hops over a dead zombie, and then comes to a stop at the open doors of the supermarket. There’s a few flickering lights inside but it’s mostly dark, and that makes it difficult to determine how safe it is inside. 

Richie crouches, picks up a discarded can of cat food, and tosses it into the dark building. Nothing reacts and Richie exhales in relief, stepping into the building. “Eds taught me that little trick. Never head into a building without checking for zombies when there’s only two of you. That’s how you get hurt or die.”

“And you actually listened to him?” Stan teases, bumping Richie in the arm with his elbow as he retracts a list from his pocket that Beverly had made out. “I think we need to cover half this list each. We’ll move faster.”

“Works for me. It’s not like we can’t hear each other.”

Stan nods, and tears the list in half, handing half of it over to Richie. “You’re in charge of hygiene. I’ve got food.”

Richie gives him a mock salute as he takes his half of the sheet and heads off into the dimly lit store to find the items. He works fast, grabbing supplies and shoving them into his bag as he walks up and down the aisles. He glances back down at the list, taking in the last needed items. Beverly has marked down scarves and gloves since winter is approaching. The clothing section is a couple of aisles away, and the second he’s mere feet away from the first rack of clothes he hears it. It’s quiet at first, a sniffling noise that’s muffled, but then it gradually gets louder the closer he gets to the clothing section. It sounds like whoever is making the noise is pouring every ounce of grieving into the action, really pouring their heart into it, and it freezes his insides.

“Hello?” He calls, moving his flashlight around. “Is someone there?”

There’s no verbal response, just the mournful sobbing. It sounds like a woman, and as Richie shines his flashlight over towards the dressing rooms at the back of the clothing section, he can see someone is hiding in one, resting on their knees which are showing under the door. Richie moves closer to the dressing room, the beam of his flashlight aimed at the ground to make sure that he doesn’t fall over anything. 

“Are you okay in there?” The sobbing stops, and the next noise he hears sounds like the woman is startled by his appearance. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I can help you.”

Richie reaches out, pushes the door with one hand, and it slowly swings open to reveal the woman inside. She’s hunched over, and as the beam from the flashlight sweeps over her, he can see every deformity on her body. Her skin is pulled tight over her bones, showing them clearly, and her face is sunken, but those features aren’t what grab his attention the most. No, it’s her fingers, which seem to have mutated into claws. They’re sharp and deadly, and there are blood stains tinting the tips. 

_ Zombie. _

Richie takes a step back and the flashlight hits her face. The woman’s head snaps up at the contact and she lets out a warning growl, her yellowed eyes fixed on him. Richie knows he should run. Every nerve in his body has lit up, putting him on high alert. They scream at him to get the hell out of there, to fucking  _ flee _ , but he can’t. The flight response is activated in his brain, but the fear has paralyzed him and shut him down. 

What the hell kind of zombie  _ is _ this? They’ve never seen anything like it before. Usually they snarl, roar, laugh, cough, or even vomit. None of them have  _ cried  _ before. The woman starts to stand slowly, struggling to get to her feet since she has little to no muscle in her legs, the growling increasing as she does. Her eyes remain fixated on him, feral and yet somehow demanding. Demanding he  _ leave _ , but he still can’t get his body to move.

She shrieks, the sound high pitched and feral, and then she’s darting at him.

Stan drops the can of food in his hand at the sound of the shriek that echoes through the supermarket, grabbing his pistol and taking off in the direction of the noise. “Richie!”

Following the sounds of the shrieks, Stan frantically searches every aisle for signs of Richie, finding none. Panic grips at his chest and he picks up speed, trying desperately to find him. Where the fuck was he? The sound of a scream alerts him where to go next and he takes a sharp turn to the right towards the clothing section. The screaming is louder, and Stan realises its feminine seconds before he sees the woman that’s standing hunched over Richie, slashing at his chest while Richie himself is gripping at her arms, trying to push them back away from his body. It doesn’t seem to be doing him any good though, her claws are too long, and Stan can see the blood splaying from Richie each time she knicks at his chest.

Stan acts fast, raising his gun and aiming at the shrieking infected before he squeezes the trigger. She’s distracted, allowing him to hit her right in the head, and it snaps back as the bullet hits her, cutting her off mid-shriek. Her body crumples onto Richie who isn’t strong enough to keep her up, but Stan’s strong enough to pull the deadweight off Richie, tossing the body to one side and dropping his gun to the ground. He crouches next to Richie to check how bad he is, feeling the dread sink in and grip at his chest. Richie looks  _ terrible _ . His chest is torn open from the deep scratches, and there’s so much blood that Stan doesn’t know if he can stop it.

He frantically reaches for Richie’s backpack anyway and rags it open, rooting around desperately for the bandages and gauze. “Hold on Rich, you’re gonna be fine.”

Richie laughs, the sound strained as he hisses from the pain it puts on his bleeding chest, pressing his arm against the wound which just squeezes more blood out of him. Richie knows he’s not fine, he  _ won’t  _ be fine. There’s too much blood and he just feels so damn weak. That sobbing bitch has really done a number on him. “Stan, I don’t think I -”

“Shut up.” Stan hisses, desperately tearing open a pack of gauze and pressing it against Richie’s chest. “You’re gonna make it.”

Richie raises a hand, weakly curls it into a fist, and lightly bumps it against Stan’s jaw. “You gotta let go Staniel.”

“No. Not you.” Stan applies pressure to the wound, and the blood seeps through the gauze before Stan feels it on his hands. “I can’t lose you… you can’t die... I love you… so you have to live so we can do something about that.”

There’s a look that comes to Richie’s face, soft and sympathetic, his hand uncurling so he can place a bloodied hand to Stan’s cheek. He opens his mouth, he wants to tell Stan he loves him too, that he always has, but there’s a shriek somewhere in the back of the store that freezes his insides.  _ Spitter _ . “You need to go Stan. Take my bag and get that shit to the others.”

Eddie takes it hardest when a bloodied Stan returns with Richie’s backpack hanging loosely from his hand by its strap, no Richie, and eyes red from crying. Richie was his closest friend. He knew Eddie better than Eddie knew himself. Eddie doesn’t let himself break down though. He needs to take care of Ben. He’s their doctor. His feelings have to wait until he’s changed the bandages and given Ben the right medication he needs.  _ Then _ he lets himself cry, and the sound keeps Stan awake all night.

They make the decision to leave Derry. It’s too painful for them now. They make a last run to get things for the road and it’s not until they’re trying to figure out who should go into the supermarket that Stan hears it. It’s a low male sobbing that makes his stomach sink. It’s Richie, he knows it is, and he knows what he has to do because whatever is in there… it’s not  _ really  _ Richie. Not anymore. It’s just wearing his skin.

Stan reaches for his gun, glancing to Eddie, and then to Mike. “Keep Eddie out here. There’s something I need to do before we go.”

It’s Beverly who goes in with him, more for backup and support if anything. Stan follows the sound of the mournful sobbing, but it’s hard to keep track of it, almost like it’s moving. Beverly shines her flashlight up one of the aisles, the beam landing on the form of something moving ahead. Stan follows the beam, and he feels his heart slow down. He’d recognize that god awful attire anywhere. The figure stops, its body shaking with sobs and its head held in its hands before it starts to turn.

The zombie Richie stops dead in its tracks and drops his hands from his face, staring at them for a moment, almost like he’s confused. He doesn’t have the telltale yellow eyes of the other infected because he’s  _ fresh _ , though there’s a yellow ring around his iris that threatens to spread into the blue. His sobbing stops, replaced with a low warning growl. Stan wonders if this is what it was like for Richie when he ran into the woman. The fear that grips at him makes it impossible to raise the gun and fire. Beverly drops the flashlight from her hand with a gasp and claps her hands over her mouth.

Neither of them move and Richie growls again. It’s louder this time, almost agitated, and then he’s running, hands stretched in front of him. His fingers are black, but the mutation hasn’t fully clicked in and he doesn’t have the claws the woman had. That doesn’t make him less dangerous though as he shoots for Beverly - the person he can see clearest. A shot rings out and Richie stumbles backwards before he falls to the floor a second later where he stops moving. Stan glances back over his shoulder as Bill lowers his sniper rifle, swings it around, and hooks the strap back over his arm. Beverly crouches to pick up her flashlight and the three of them leave, Stan sparing one last look over his shoulder at Richie. 

None of them notice the red tint to the dead Richie’s skin, or the long white claws that tap against the ground. They don’t hear him get up, and they definitely don’t hear him coming until he slashes Bill so hard it knocks him off his feet into a pool of his own blood. They’ve never seen anything move so fast. Beverly is able to fend off the attack when the feral rage is turned on her, using her shotgun to keep pushing Richie back. Bill’s already stopped moving, watching them with a blank stare, and Stan can’t watch another person die. He raises the gun, takes aim, and fires. 

This time Richie stays dead, they make sure of it as much as they hate having to do so, burning the body to ensure he doesn’t reanimate a third time.


End file.
